


Unwell

by ThesePictures



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dark, F/M, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-21 10:03:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2464268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThesePictures/pseuds/ThesePictures
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Modern AU where Sansa Stark is trapped in a mental health facility due to her past. She meets a rough man who will soon learn that there is a difference from being insane and being simply unwell.</p><p>[Modern AU]<br/>[Dark Romance]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sansa

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there,  
> This modern au fiction might seem depressing and dark, but I assure you, it won't stay that way forever. It's been a vision of mine of how things might have played out in modern day with Sansa and Sandor. It's a different spin on the romance that blooms between two characters who are and have been in bad situations. 
> 
> Without getting too deep, I'm writing with experience of some of the subject matter, and don't mean to romanticize the struggle people deal with from this type of matter. So please take it with a grain of salt and enjoy the story. As always, please ignore my terrible spelling and grammar, I'm not an expert in writing, it's just a happy outlet for me.
> 
> Inspiration for this fan fiction comes from the amazing song, Unwell by Matchbox 20. Give it a listen! 
> 
> Thanks again.

My champion wins again. Maybe for the seventh time in an hour. I sure can pick them today. I’m lucky it’s raining, the water droplets that race down the window give me something to do. Something to occupy my mind with while I wait for the nurse to make her rounds with the pills. My pills. They’ve caught on to my hiding them under my tongue and disposing them mashed up with unfinished food. It’s no use. Now the meds come to me, special delivery, from a husky, no nonsense nurse who “doesn’t take no funny business from foolish girls!”. I don’t mind as much anymore though. I’m starting to get used to the strange calming effect the medication gives off, it takes away the fight and edge. I used to believe I didn’t belong here, like this was a huge mistake and an injustice, but now, I don’t even know what I believe in. Well, that’s not true. I believe in my rain drops, time, and evil. The raindrops that help me stay busy, that remind me that the outside world still exists. Time, because well, time keeps going. It waits for no one. It’s the stealer of memories, of hope yet it always promises a new day. And evil. Evil is why I’m here, why all of this has happened. Evil will always win.  
  
A knock on the door alerts me back to the present.  
  
“Sansa Stark? It’s noon.”  
  
It’s the nurse. Can’t mistake that accent. I nod as she opens the door and brings the tray with a styrofoam cup and the little paper cup of doom. It’s noon she says. Like that’s supposed to mean something to me. Time is important, but it’s not that crucial to someone who sits in a room all day, waiting to be fed medications, and for something else, what though, I don’t even know. Just waiting.  
  
I take the pills, because what other choice do I have. This will get her off my case sooner, and maybe I can find a different way to hide them in the future without the doctors breathing down my neck. Opening my mouth, I let her see both above and under my tongue, confirming the fact that I took those little beasts. She nods approvingly and marches out of the room, leaving the cup of water behind. How generous.  
  
All that’s left is to go back to the rainy window and wait for the small volunteer kid to come by and exchange my books. Reading is all I have to keep me from truly going crazy. Not to mention, I’ve always loved it. It reminds me of back home, with my then alive parents, sitting around the fireplace, each one of us a different book in hand. My brothers with their comic books, and my sister with hers. Me, I’ve always loved the fairy tales and romance. I’m a sucker for a happy ending. Too bad I’m learning the hard way that they only exist in the stories. Those memories of my family hurt the most, sting in a way I’ve never experienced before. It almost makes me glad I’ll become numb soon from my daily dose.  
  
I sit in the vinyl chair, staring out the window again, inspecting the new raindrops while I continue to wait.  
  
A short time later, I’m jumping in my spot from surprise of a new raspy voice. I must have missed the knock.  
  
“You want a book or not?”  
  
I twist around to see a man at the door with a cart of books. A man doesn’t really describe him. He’s a beast. Tall, muscled, with shaggy black hair that falls to his shoulder. He moves a lock from his face and then I see it, the scars on the one side of his face. They mar his skin, making it seem rough, almost still raw though surely they can’t be. His grey eyes are steel, starring at me like he is both surprised and ready to shout at me for something. I quickly stop inspecting him and gather myself.  
  
“You’re not the Pate kid. Who are you?” I ask, curiosity getting the best of me.  
  
“Does it matter?” he asks bitterly. “Do you want to change your books or not?”  
  
I hurry and gather my books, neatly in a corner of the sterile white room. I’m suddenly oddly self conscious of the way I look. A mess no doubt, it’s not like I have a mirror in here. Never had any visitors to care about how I look. I catch him watching me as I load up the books and hand them off to him.  
  
“Any preferences?” he asks, eyes darting from me, back to the cart. Do I scare him? I bet my hair is a giant auburn bird’s nest. I can feel myself flush with embarrassment.  
  
“Florian and Jonquil please.” I ask, a favourite of mine, one I don’t mind reading over and over.  
  
He grunts and shows a little smirk with his half mangled lip. “You like that shit?” he asks, as if genuinely interested in my answer.  
  
“I do… Who are you?” I ask again, intrigued why a clearly angry brute would be volunteering at a mental health facility.  
  
He eyes me again, and surrenders, I’m not sure why.  
  
“Sandor. My name’s Sandor. And before you think I’m into this bullshit of volunteering and helping the crazies, that’s not why I’m here. Remember that.”  
  
Helping the crazies. His words hurt a little. Why?  
  
“Then why are you here?” I inquire a with a little more acid than I should have.  
  
“I don’t have a choice. Enjoy the book.” he grunts before quickly closing the door. I can hear the wheels of the book cart squeak down the hall.  
  
What the hell? I think to myself. If that wasn’t the most awkward and weird thing to happen to me in a long time I don’t know what is. What did he mean he didn’t have a choice? Was this community service for him? What was with his scarred face? The guy was huge, he could have done anything.  
  
I put my books to the corner, smiling when I look at the cover of my beloved Florian and Jonquil. I almost have it memorized, but the illustrations in the book make it worth taking out over and over again, though it probably doesn’t help the whole ‘I’m not crazy’ thing I’ve been saying repeatedly.  
  
Plopping myself back down in the most uncomfortable chair in the world, I find myself thinking about this Sandor more than my beloved raindrops. Who is he? After much thought I come to the decision that he must work for the Lannisters. The evil who run this hell hole. Maybe he did something to piss them off and that’s why he’s on book duty. Unless something happened to the Pate kid, than maybe he’s just taking over until they find another kid to use. I’m guessing they usually use him for his muscles and clearly brute strength.  
  
The real question is, why do I care so much? It’s not like he was pleasant or anything, or even a really good looking guy. Well, he wasn’t bad looking, the scars just made him look, ah, more severe. Perhaps he isn’t like that at all. Maybe he just got dealt a bad hand, and he’s paying for it now, just like the rest of us.  
  
I find that I can’t stop thinking about him. Probably because he’s a grown male and besides my doctors, I feel like I haven’t seen one of those in a long time. Maybe since I was put in here by Cersei Lannister and her terrible clan. The awful woman is basically the one who runs this big city. I’m positive she’s the reason for my father’s death and my mother’s disappearance. And the way my family has been split up, no one knowing where the other is. It’s criminal the way the Lannister’s work in this city… It’s… It’s… My mind is clouding up, I don’t really remember what I was complaining about. It’s the medication, those stupid pills are slowing me down. If only I could get out of here. I could save myself. I could get away and find my family. Get my life back… Wait, what?  
  
My mind goes spotty and then blank, and I stare out the window at nothing in particular. I feel like an undead as I lift my heavy arms and legs and do my version of walking to my bed to lie down. With eyes wide open, I stare at the white ceiling and breathe through my mouth. I don’t like this feeling at all, the feeling of my head spinning and drifting at the same time. I know as soon as I close my eyes, my whole world will spin and spin and I will feel sick. So I keep them open, and keep starring at nothing.  
  
I want to go home, though I don’t know where home is anymore. Definitely not here, the cesspool that is King’s Landing. I just want out, need out, I don’t belong here. I’m not crazy or sick, I’m just a little unwell.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this short first chapter, this fiction isn't my absolute top priority, but I will be posting more in the future, I feel like it's one of my stories I'd like to get out there.


	2. Sansa

The dreams keep me awake at night. Analyzing, digging for meaning to the twisted images and strange feelings. I’m haunted by demonic princes and find sanctuary in wolves. Trees with angry faces comfort me while pretty silks strangle me. I wake up in a cold sweat, shivering uncontrollably. Some nights I can’t stop my teeth from chattering. I spend the rest of the night attempting to control my breathing while I try my best to remember what scared me so much. Nothing helps, and I hate bedtime for this reason. Very rarely do I get relief of a dreamless night, but when I do, I thank my lucky stars for it.  
  
A couple days have past since the meeting of the giant book boy. I can tell which day of the week it is by the things we’re forced to do or by the doctors I see. Today is Wednesday. I know it’s Wednesday because I have the pleasure of going to the craft room for a while. Today we’re making cards for ‘loved ones’. I don’t have any loved ones anymore, so I’ve decided I’m making cards for myself. It’s pretty sad, but hey, i’ve done worse.  
  
My outdoor time this morning was beautiful. It’s autumn in Westeros, crisp, cool and breezy which reminds me of Winterfell. Of home. It makes the short hour of outdoor time every other day an absolute delight. Another addition on my small list of things to look forward to.  
  
I’m assuming we’re making Halloween cards due to the season and what, with all the orange and black construction paper I’ve been trying my hardest to cut up with these damned dulled child scissors. Who knew one sent cards out for a kid’s holiday? They must be stretching to find things for us to do. It’s strange, but I love Wednesdays. I love craft time fiercely though they keep threatening to take it away for my inexistent bad behaviour. I used to cross stitch back home, and I was quite good at it, my mother was very proud. I would love to get back into it, but the needles here would be a huge no-no. I can picture the chaos now. Maegor’s Psychiatric Centre (or Maegor’s Holdfast as some call it due to the building’s harsh castle-like appearance) takes routine and procedure to heart to apparently insure patient safety and security.  
  
After a meal of cold, lumpy mashed potatoes, green beans and a slab of what appears to be meatloaf, my good old nurse friend escorts me back to my single cell of a room and promises to return later with my meds. Wow. Good. I’ll be waiting with bated breath.  
  
While I can eat in the cafeteria with the other patients, I never get much freedom. I don’t understand why I can’t sit in the common room with the others, watching the continuous episode after episode of Jeopardy reruns, and I don’t bother to ask. Honestly, I don’t care much, I prefer to be alone.  
  
Contrary to popular belief, I’m not stupid. I know I get ‘special’ treatment, with my own crabby nurse, very limited group time, and no outside contact. Probably Cersei Lannnister’s doing, she’s got Doctor Pycelle in the palm of her hand. They treat me like I’m the most insane or better yet, dangerous person in here. I wish I was, I wish I could be, but I’m not. I won’t be anyone but myself. The day I start acting like someone else is the day I truly become someone deserving of all the pills they feed me.  
  
Now, back in my little room, the excitement fills me. And I know the reason why. He’ll be back today. At least I think he will. It’s book day. Every three days is book day and word has it that boy Pate is not coming back. I don’t know the details, I just kind of eavesdrop when possible so I can hear some details of the outside world. This means the scarred hulk will be back, and the thought fills me with something other than indifference like the past. It’s most definitely a thrill of some sort. Funny how the little things mean a lot in here.  
  
Sure enough, as I’m sitting cross legged on my pristine grey bed, he stops at my door and looks in. He looks a little more put together today, and I wonder whose benefit it’s for. His layered black shirt matches his pants and his hair looks recently washed. I wish I could say the same, I won’t get shower time until tomorrow afternoon.  
  
I look up at him and smirk at the comically small book cart next to this brick house of a man.  
  
“Something funny?” he asks me as if relieved to find a way to start a conversation.  
  
“Just admiring the little cart you’ve got there. Are you our new book boy now that Pate’s taken off?” I ask, genuinely curious but hiding it with an air of humour.  
  
He looks me up and down and I become self conscious of the ward administered grey sweat suit I’m wearing. Why do I even care? This guy’s face has been ravaged and he seems to have a permanent scowl, it’s not like he’s pleased to be here or anything.  
  
He finally speaks.  
  
“Chirp away, but it’s all temporary. Filling in until they rope some sap into the job. Ready to change that Florian Fool book now, smart ass?” he asks.  
  
I’m taken back by his words, in an odd way. No one had ever called me that before. Not Ned Stark’s daughter. I let out a laugh. It surprises me. It’s been so long since I’ve laughed, and I’m not really sure why I’m doing it. I feel both scared and amused by his bluntness.  
  
He surely must think I’m crazy, why else would I be laughing, hysterically now.  
  
I catch myself.  
  
“No, I think I’ll keep it for a little longer. But you can have this one.” I hold out the other book to him and don’t bother to get another, I’m enjoying this moment too much.  
  
He squints at me, as if trying to figure me out. I’ll let him keep wondering.  
  
“You’re a strange one, Sansa Stark.” he says as he takes the book and he goes to leave.  
  
My heart freezes at the use of my name.  
  
“How… How do you know my name?” I suddenly ask.  
  
He stares before answering.

  
“I have connections. Wanted to know who the chirping bird in room 3A was, and I got my answers.” he shrugs like it’s no big deal.

I can’t help but smile and cringe at the same time. I just hope he didn’t read into my history. My diagnosis. I don’t need to explain myself to anyone else, especially someone who has connections to the Lannisters.

“I must have made quite the impression then.” I mutter and wrap my arms around my legs to my chest. I’m paranoid he can hear my thumping heart.

“You -“ he’s interrupted by my best friend, Nurse Cranky.

“No visitors for this patient.” she says matter-of-factly and scoots in front of the big man. She carries the same damn tray with that plastic cup and my dreaded nightly dose.

My good mood falters. I’m embarrassed now. Surely he knows I do take medications, I am a patient for gods sake, but my ego is hurt. This man doesn’t need to see me being treated like a child. I sigh as I swallow my pride and pills, showing my tongue to my audience. He still hasn't left and I wonder if I’m really an interesting show.

“I said, no visitors. Now move along.” Cranky says to this Sandor once more.

He turns his attention from me to the Nurse.

“I think I can decide for myself when I choose to leave. Now tell me, nurse Hawthorne, what will happen if I inform head office one of their staff members is giving orders to someone higher than them?” he almost spits at her.

Nurse Cranky’s face turns beat red and she grasps the metal tray tight.

“Apologies Clegane, I’m just doing my job, this patient isn’t supposed to have visitors of any kind without direct consent.”

“Well as you can tell by my little book cart here, I’m not a fucking visitor, and I’m giving consent.” he grits his teeth.

The nurse nods and vacates as quick as if she’s been called to deal with an out-of-hand patient like I’ve seen happen many times before. My gaze turns to the man who in a strange way, stuck up for me. Why is he doing this?

“Don’t you look at me like that, little bird. I’m no knight, I just hate being told what to do.” he growls and approaches, dropping a new book onto my bed before turning quickly to leave.

Again, I watch him close the door and look at me briefly through the little square window. I exhale and watch him disappear.

I look down at my book and smile. _Poems and Songs From Across Westeros_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> I'm moving this weekend so updates for this fic and "Our History Remains" may be delayed a little.


	3. Sansa/Sandor

I lie awake wondering why I haven’t fallen into a drug induced sleep yet. My mind races and I can hear the thumping of my heart over and over, like the beat of a too familiar song. I breathe in deeply, lay my hands on my stomach, counting 1…2…3… and exhale. A doctor taught me that trick. The effects that proper breathing have on ones anxieties. But the real question is, why am I so anxious? Nothing has changed. Or has it?   
  
All of this is about him. Sandor. My stomach tickles at thinking his name and I immediately scold myself for it. So a guy gives me attention for the first time in a long time and I’m just jumping at the chance to over think things. That’s all it is. That’s all it could be.   
  
The past three weeks he’s been here multiple times. More than just rolling the book cart around. He’s walked the halls, given out medications and he even came out to the cafeteria for security. He didn’t say much to me, just stared, I could feel his watchful eyes and it brought something new to my daily routines.  
  
Though today was very different. Today he sat with me. Me. The girl who no one sits with. All eyes were on us. It was frightening. Usually I just keep my hair like a curtain in front of my face and look down into whatever slop is being served, but today was different. I was jabbing at the mystery meat with a plastic fork when a thud surprised me. When I looked up, he was looking down at me. My breath caught in my throat. He looked angry, the scars adding to his roughness.   
  
“They watch you girl, you should eat.” he said with his searching gaze.  
  
I pushed the tray towards him, as if offering a sample.   
  
“Would you eat this?” I asked and lifted a curious brow.   
  
And believe it or not. He chuckled. He actually laughed at something I said. It wasn’t a sarcastic or cruel laugh, but something genuine and unusual coming from him. It lightened my heart.   
  
I’m thinking about it now. The laugh, the way he excused himself roughly after that and vanished from the cafeteria and I’m guessing the building. My anxiety peaks again and I begin to wonder if this is anxiety at all like the doctor always says, or maybe a happy feeling. Could it be?   
  
—-   
  
Nurse Cranky wakes me up with an angry pull of my vinyl curtains, letting the sun shine in and hit me dead in the face. I wasn’t ready for that, considering the minimal hours I actually spent asleep. I won’t tell her my medication isn’t working, the last thing I want or need is a heavier dose. If I didn’t need sleep, I’d be happy about the whole situation.   
  
Cranky plunks down the daily dose and looks me over as I scramble to get up and grab my clothes and toiletries for shower day. She’s judging me, I can tell by the way those squinty eyes of hers close even more and one perfectly manicured brow floats up to reach her hairline.   
  
“You’re off your game, Stark. Usually you’re up and waiting for me. What’s going on?”   
  
It doesn’t seem too professional when she asks this, but she’s caught me off-guard. I tuck my messy hair behind my ear and act nonchalant.   
  
“I guess my medication worked too well. Slept like the dead.” I cringe as I say it. That word is still sensitive to me.   
  
“Maybe you’re just exhausted from having Clegane visit. Come on, I want you in and out of the showers in ten.” She barks at me.  
  
Rolling my eyes, but feeling the tingle in my gut at the mention of his name, I scurry and fall behind her to head towards the bathrooms.  
  
Twelve and a half steamy minutes later, I’m back in my room running my fingers through my soaking hair. I had breakfast taken away, the only decent meal of the day, due to my extra time with the showers, but I don’t care. They’re not punishing me the way they think they are. Everyone is in the cafeteria, the quiet time is just what I need. I lean back in my horrible chair and slowly close my eyes.   
  
Either a second or minutes later, a knock brings me back. Does Cranky ever give me peace? I look over and once again the flutter is back. It’s Sandor. Sandor holding a muffin. Why is he being so nice to me?   
  
“I told you to eat.” he says tossing me the muffin.   
  
I sniff it before I dig in. This clearly is from the staff room, it’s fresh, edible, and full of banana flavour. I smile at the deliciousness of this simple muffin.   
  
“Good.” he mutters and turns to leave.   
  
“Wait!” I call out, still picking pieces from the muffin top.   
  
Sandor turns to me, an expression of almost pain on his face.   
  
“Why are you here? I mean not that I’m not happy about it… I mean, I am happy, I uh, just wondered what’s changed since day one when you wanted nothing to do with this place?” I struggle to form sentences. He really will think I belong here.   
  
He exhales and looks me up and down.   
  
“Some people don’t like seeing little birds caged up so tight. I gotta go.”   
  
I don’t stop him this time. This time I sit back in the increasingly comfortable chair and smile until my cheeks hurt. This is all so bittersweet and won’t end well, but for now, the ache is a welcome gift.  
  
  
  
***   
  
  
  
  
Why am I here? Good bloody question, little bird. Good question. What’s changed? Shit, what hasn’t changed. If she only knew what she does to me.  
  
Those eyes. Those damn baby blues get me every time. She’s the reason I keep coming back to this cesspool of a building. This place that reeks of malpractice and Lannister revenge and it’s causing me nothing but shit to be here, but I can’t help it. I feel like I need to watch her, take care of her in a fucked up way. Care for her from afar I guess. Keep that bitch of a nurse away as often as I can, make sure no one even thinks about touching her.   
  
All these reasons, they bring me back to the holdfast. One look from her and it all seems worth it. I don’t understand my feelings, and it pisses me off. Why this girl from the nut house makes me act this way. Normally I’d be getting drunk at some bar and doing what the Lannister’s pay me to do, but it doesn’t seem worth it now. Now I want to do something crazy.   
  
I shouldn’t even be thinking about it, but I am. I want to take her out of there. It’s not safe, not with prying eyes of people who know who and what she really is. Innocent. A Stark of Winterfell. Probably the last Stark of Winterfell if what people say is true. The rest are dead or missing. Either way, any place is better than this hell hole, the way she’s _kept_ is abuse and it sickens me to see her treated this way. I see the pain in her eyes when she thinks I’m not looking, I see the look of resignation when she’s being fed those pills. She doesn’t belong there. She needs to be freed. And I won’t let her go until she’s out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Hope you are enjoying :)


	4. Sansa

  
Click click click… The sound of perfectly polished crimson nails tapping on an expensive oaken desk grab my attention. I look at the face the dainty hand belongs to. Cersei Lannister.   
  
“You know why you’re here, don’t you Sansa?” she asks, those cruel green eyes giving me the once over.  
  
“I’m here because I’m crazy and this is apparently a mental health facility.” I say, I cannot control the annoyance in my voice. How I hate this woman.   
  
“Funny, child. I mean here, today.” she acts bored, but I know she’s fuming inside. The woman hates insolence.   
  
I look at her and then the shrivelled old man attempting to stand up straight behind her, the ancient Doctor Pycelle.   
  
“No.” I reply, though I know damn well why I’m here. It’s been a week and a half since the muffin event, and I haven’t seen Sandor once. I know now they’re keeping him away.   
  
It was actually quite disheartening when I looked for him over the coming days and he was nowhere to be found, I felt the familiar pain of missing someone. The gruff man was now someone special to me. I waited and waited, thinking the footsteps in the hall would be his, until they approached and they weren’t heavy enough or didn’t stop at my door. The final straw was book day. When I could excitedly hear the book cart rolling it’s squeaky wheels towards my room, only to be crushed when a little old lady asked as politely as she could if I’d like to exchange my books. I’ve never been so upset to have someone talk so nicely to me. When she waddled kindly away, exchanging none of my books, I headed over to my trusty awful chair to mull it all over, and it was then I knew that he had been sent away. My heart hurt. Bad.   
  
“Are you listening, Sansa?” the witch’s voice calls my attention back to the awful present.   
  
I look from her to Pycelle blankly.   
  
“Huh?” I inquire rudely. What are they going to do? Lock me up?   
  
A dramatic sigh fills the room and the old man clears his throat.   
  
“I was saying, it’s extremely wrong for a Lannister worker of any kind to be spending so much time with a, well, very sick patient, so we’ve changed Clegane’s services to a different department. I assure you he will be kept too busy for visits or volunteering of any sort.”   
  
Another sharp pain through my chest.   
  
“As for you - Doctor Pycelle has suggested we increase your medications to calm your apparent mood swings, and we’re going to limit your socializing time further as it appears we’ve been to lenient. Nurse Hawthorne will be filling out daily reports on your wellbeing and you will be monitored and seen more regularly by our doctors. Do you understand?”   
  
She’s actually smiling as she finishes. I want to jump out of my chair and smack the grin off her face. I’ve never been one for violence but this woman is taking the remaining pieces of my life and breaking them even further. I can’t take it.   
  
My hands firmly grip the metal handles of the chair and I try to breathe.   
  
“Pycelle - have the nurses come and take Miss Stark back to her room please.”   
  
I watch silently as he leaves, and focus on my breathing, attacking this woman will only result in solitary confinement, and that will surely drive me utterly insane. Something Cersei desperately wants. She knows I will be easier to control if I truly go mad.   
  
“You won’t win, Sansa. I own you, now and always.” Cersei grins.   
  
“Why are you doing this?” I’m ashamed I almost beg.   
  
“A Lannister always pays his debts… Also truly, I haven’t decided what I’m going to do with you just yet.”   
  
Perfect timing as Pycelle returns with two huge nurses, who each grab an arm as if I’m going to lunge at Cersei any second. Maybe I should be, fighting, screaming, throwing a fit like they expect me too. Instead, I feel defeated. Like the fight is gone. I want to return to my room, watch my raindrops and go back to the comatose state where I don’t feel anything, not even human.   
  
I feel stiff as they drag me away. Cersei smiling sickly sweetly and Pycelle with a faint look of confusion. I feel everything and nothing as the words ‘pays his debts’ pass through my mind. I wish I knew what she meant. Why she is entitled to take my life from me.   
  
I’m back in my room as Nurse Hawthorne comes and brings me my medications, twice as many pills as before, and I quietly take them, showing her that I did as requested. I sit on my bed and wait for them to take effect. I just want this day to be over. Before, I would tell myself that tomorrow might bring something better, a look, a conversation, Sandor. But now, it looks as bleak as today has been.   
  
—-  
  
Is it possible for each day to be worse than the next? I think I know the answer to that one. Every day, my heavier dose takes more of an effect, and I can no longer function as a normal human being. I stare into nothingness, I feel like I move in slow motion, and annoyingly enough, I can’t close my damn mind no matter how hard I try. What have they got me on? This shouldn’t be legal for anyone to take.   
  
My doctor appointments have been plentiful and yet uneventful all in one. I couldn’t tell you what we’ve discussed if my life was on the line. Which I feel like it is sometimes. They talk to me and it doesn’t hit home. I look at them with empty eyes and an emptier heart. I see the group of ‘wise men’ once a day though it feels a lot more. I watch them blankly as they scribble in their leather bound books and exchange glances. I wonder how bored they must be with me. Oh well.   
  
Nurse Haw-Hawth…. Nurse Cranky comes up behind me and grabs me at the arm, rising from this chair, that once was stiff and awful, but now is quite neutral.   
  
“Come Stark, it’s time for outdoors. You have not been out for days.” she says as I rise slowly. My feet weigh a hundred pounds each.   
  
Is it me or has her voice gotten more quiet and gravelly? Probably me. How many days have gone by? I don’t remember anything. I’m trying to hold on to my true self, but it’s so hard with all this drug interaction. Why am I feeling it so heavily?

I pass my pile of uneaten food on the desk as we leave, I’ve begun to be suspicious they’re drugging it, so I’ve ate the very minimal. I don’t remember if i’ve been in trouble for it or not. I suppose it doesn't matter. It’s not like Sandor will be back to save me with a muffin.   
  
As i’m bundled up and thrown out into the fenced yard, I slowly make my way to the deserted bench down the side of the building. I sit and stare off into the wooded area beyond the fences.  
  
How I would love to be out there… To be a bird or better yet, a wolf, roaming the forest with reckless abandon, mud caked in my fur, the freezing air filling my nostrils, and the warm blood filling my mouth. I can taste it, the coppery, rusty taste with that unusual tang. It’s a comforting feeling until I suddenly come back to myself and realize I have blood dribbling down the side of my lip. I instinctively spit and discover I’ve gnawed my tongue something fierce while I was off in my daze. I wipe the rest of the blood off with my coat sleeve and try to smile. The heat of the blood a lingering feeling of comfort on my chapped lips. 

“Fuck, little bird, what has happened to you?” a booming voice approaches. 

He’s here. He’s back.   
  
I look up and see him starring down at me horrified. I wish I could feel something, ashamed even.   
  
“I… I…” Why can’t I speak?   
  
“You look like shit, Sansa. Are you eating?”   
  
I nod weakly.  
  
“You’re liar. Don’t ever lie to me.” he snaps, and I’m suddenly frightened.   
  
“The less you eat, the heavier the drugs take effect, little bird. You need to keep yourself strong and aware.” he almost pleads.   
  
“How…How are you here?” I can’t have a solid thought with all these little ones racing around my mind, I can’t even articulate.   
  
“Don’t worry about that little bird. I couldn’t keep away. I was worried. Rightfully so. Look at you, it’s like you’ve already given up. You’re a bloody mess.” his face looks as cruel as the way he speaks.   
  
My head spins with thoughts, none of them sweet. I just stare at him and watch the creases appear on his face, his look of worry and anger.   
  
“Don’t you, don’t know you what I am. Why I’m here to begin withf?” I finally push out.  
  
“Because you’re valuable to Cersei.”   
  
“Because I’m bipolar. Type 1. Psychotic tendencies. Hallucinations. Paranoia. I’m a threat to those around me, Sandor.” I can feel the hot tears stinging my eyes.   
  
“You know that’s bullshit as well as I do. This is all because you’re a Stark. You’re only believing this because they’ve got you too drugged to have a proper thought.” he grits his teeth.   
  
“What if they’re right? What if I do belong here…” I can’t take this.  
  
“You have to fight this, Sansa. Don’t give up now, not when -“  
  
We’re interrupted by approaching guards lead by a fuming Nurse Cranky.   
  
“Clegane, I don’t know how you got past security, but you get out of here and don’t think of coming back. I will go directly to Cersei, and who will pay for your insolence I wonder?”  
  
Wow, Cranky has grown a pair.   
  
Sandor growls furiously and flies up from the bench, and turns to me.   
  
“Remember, you’re a bloody Stark, Sansa.”   
  
With that he leaves. For what could be forever. I’d like to say my heart hurt, or that all hope was lost. Or that I had hope in the first place. Instead I felt nothing at all.   
  
When the nurse took me back to my room, I noticed a cup of soup and a box of apple juice where the trays of expiring sandwiches had been. Without thinking, I sat down at the desk and picked up the spoon.  
  
—-  
  
As the days pass, the crisp autumn air turns as frigid and cold as I feel. Snow, the beautiful gift from the gods that once filled me with warmth and delight now leaves me empty. I watch as the flakes stick to the windows, blocking my view of the trees and street below. I continue to stare at the white, wondering how much longer I can take this, can I last until spring? Will spring ever even come for a Stark? No, I think not. I think it will forever be winter in my heart and body, frozen and still like these december nights.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't begin to tell you guys how happy your comments have made me. That people actually enjoy this fic and want to read more of it. Though it is slow moving, the ball will begin rolling next chapter. 
> 
> I am sincerely so grateful for you guys, for reading, for taking the time to comment, and for making me feel so great about this whole thing. 
> 
> Though I won't lie, I'm having a little trouble which path to take from here, so if you want to help me and give me your valued opinion, message me on tumblr, jawsthemesong. I have a couple directions in my head, I just can't figure out what one is best for this story since I'm new to writing. 
> 
> Thank you again for being so lovely, I can't begin to explain how much it means to me. Also HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!!!!


	5. Sansa

  
Fear grips my heart like a pair of icy hands. It’s the first time I’ve felt something besides emptiness in quite some time. The feeling comes uninvited like the stranger in my room. I awake startled from the weight on the bed. Someone is so close to me. It’s pitch black, the dead of night, and I can hear them breathing.   
  
“I know you’re awake now, girl.” he rasps.   
  
It’s him. Sitting at the edge of my bed in the midnight hours. Inside Maegor’s. Am I dreaming? The silence stretches between us before I finally whisper.   
  
“What’s going on?” I’m afraid. I’ve never had a male in my room before.   
  
“It’s time.” he replies in what I’m assuming is his attempt at a whisper.   
  
It’s then I can smell the faint tinge of alcohol on his breath. He’s been drinking, perhaps to gather the courage to break into my room and mutter cryptic words.  
  
“What? Time for what?” I sit up and try to make out his figure.   
  
“We’re leaving. I’m taking you out of here. I could keep you safe. They’re all afraid of me.” he’s now off the bed and kneeling in front of me, almost pleading. My eyes have adjusted and I can see him clearer now. He’s serious.   
  
“I… How…?” I stumble on my words. My head feels clouded and I can’t seem to grasp the situation at hand.   
  
Sandor’s hands come up and lightly touch my face before he pulls them back quickly as if he has burned himself. My heart aches. I respond by slowly mirroring his action, cupping his marred cheek with my hand. It’s rough under my fingers, but not in a bad way. It’s warm. Comforting even. I feel him lean into my hand for the briefest of moments.   
  
Sandor stiffens and it’s my turn to pull away.   
  
“We’re short on time, little bird. Gather your things, I will not leave this bloody place without you.” he says as he stands and pulls my hand with his tight grip.   
  
“You’ve… You’ve been drinking.” I say as a fact.   
  
“I was. I have been for days. I’ve never been more sober now though, I assure you. Now quickly.” he replies.  
  
I have a choice now, either stay here and continue in my world of surviving but not living, in a constant drugged state with little to no cognitive activity, or swallow my uneasiness and go now, with this man out into the unknown.   
  
I do know one thing, he won’t hurt me.   
  
The fear that consumed me at first has vanished, and in it’s place a spark of hope and fight bloom. I want to go with him. I will leave this place. Tonight.   
  
Groggily but as deft as I can manage, I pull together what remaining things I have and stuff them in a bag. A change of clothes, my toiletries, odds and ends.   
  
“Pull your hair up and put your hood on. We wait for the sign and then we walk briskly to the exit. From there, we run until we hit my car. Just follow me. Got it?”   
  
Wait for the sign? Are others involved in this? I can’t help but wonder who Sandor is working with just to get me out of here. I didn’t think I was worth the risk but he’s proving me wrong.   
  
I do as he says, hiding as much of my face as I can, and I see he does the same, lifting a heavy black hood over his head to hide himself as best as possible, though nothing can truly hide him. His size alone is a dead giveaway.   
  
The alarm start screaming out into the silence of the night.   
  
“Attention - all health care providers, please report to room 4C immediately. That’s all available staff to room 4C immediately. Code Blackwater. I repeat, code Blackwater.”   
  
The announcement cuts through the alarm. I’ve heard that page before, once, when a patient got ahold of a knife from the kitchens. I never found out exactly what happened during, but we all found out the ending. It involved an ambulance and we never saw the patient again. My assumption is that ‘Blackwater’ must be as chaotic and deadly as codes can get.   
  
“That’s it, let’s go. Do as I say and we’ll get out of here with little or no problems.” Sandor says, grabbing my hand with his and my bag with the other.   
  
My heart is a flutter and I don’t know if it’s because of the whole situation, or simply because he’s taken my hand.   
  
“Wait” my stupid conscious gets in the way. “Will 4C be okay?”   
  
He sighs as he grips my hand tighter and pulls me from the room, cautiously checking the hallway as we go.   
  
“He will be fine. A few people in here owe me a favour is all.” he tugs me this way and that way.  
  
We finally get to the doors where two guards stand. I feel my heart sink because I know we’re about to be caught and all of this will be for nothing. Instead, Sandor simply yells “DOWN!” and I do as he says, crunching in a ball on the floor as he throws the first punch at the guard to the left, knocking him to the floor near me. As the other guard comes after him, Sandor is ready for it, sending an elbow flying at his face and shoving him to the wall.   
  
I remind myself these guards are Lannister men, and I feel less awful about the whole situation.    
  
Sandor grabs my hand again and we press on, finding the halls deserted. Though I’m worried how we will get by the lobby, there is always a 24 hour surveillance guard and camera going, and if Sandor runs in with fists flying it surely won’t end well.   
  
Yet, as we approach the booth, Sandor and the man make eye contact and the man nods, turns away and starts fiddling with the computers. I’ve only seen this booth once, a long time ago, so I have no idea what he’s actually doing, but it’s clear he’s letting us get away. I start to really wonder what these people have done to owe Sandor such large debts.   
  
And then it happens. Something I never thought would ever happen again. We fly through the doors and step out into the chilly night. No gates, no security, no cameras. Just two people, running down the frozen pavement with nothing but weak street lamps to guide our way.   
  
—-  
  
The car was waiting two blocks away, sitting in the dark shadows of the night. I sit in the passenger side, my heart beating wildly. I don’t know what we’re doing or where we go from here, but I’m elated to be out of that place, especially with no problems getting to this point. Something has to go wrong, it wouldn’t be my life if I didn’t get caught or if this wasn’t just a giant ruse to get me into more trouble. Life never works this easy, and I still don’t comprehend why Sandor would do all this for me.  
  
Speaking of, he sits beside me gripping the steering wheel tight, grinding his teeth.  
  
“Are you regretting this?” I ask immediately, the question heavy on my mind.   
  
He chuckles, but it’s rough and not light hearted.   
  
“No, no little bird, I’m not. I was just so focused on getting you out without harm that I didn’t think of what the ending was. I’ve got a place people don’t know about, but it’s not a permanent solution. And you’ve got…”  
  
“…I’ve got no place to go home to.” I finish for him. I watch him nod ever so lightly.  
  
He starts the car and we take off, zooming down the empty streets, blowing through the street lights as we go. We may not have an endgame planned, but this is the best and most confident I’ve felt in so long, I grin while wrapping my arms around myself, and let the cool night air take me into a serenity I’ve never known.  
  
—-  
  
“Little bird? Sansa? Wake up.” Sandor’s voice calls to me.   
  
I awake suddenly and realize I’m still in his car, safe, and all of this was not a vivid dream. It was real. The sun is coming up, telling me a new day is here. I can’t remember seeing such a beautiful sunrise and I remember it’s because I’m used to seeing them from my lonely white room.   
  
I smile again and look over at his worried face.   
  
“Hmm?” I mumble sleepily. I guess even the excited events from last night can’t hold back the medications. And then it hits me, I never have to take them again! Goodbye Nurse Cranky and the stupid paper cups! I truly am physically and mentally free. Another wide grin stretches across my face. I look down at my arm, pull my sleeve back and yank the plastic ID bracelet from my wrist. I stuff the thing in my pocket and turn to look at Sandor.

“We’re almost at my place. It’s not much, I’ll tell you that now, but it’s safe for the time being.” his voice is rough.   
  
“Wouldn’t that be the first place they’d look?” I ask, as a chill passes through me. I don’t want to imagine the punishment for running away.  
  
“Not here. I have a place in the city and one out here in the sticks when I need the air. No one comes up here.”   
  
I feel a bit better, the nerves calming themselves a little. Though a desolate home in the middle of nowhere with a man I barely know doesn’t sound ideal, I don’t think I’d choose another option even if I had one. I’m here with Sandor and that was the right decision. I wish I could say I’m feeling good, happy and free, but my insides are in turmoil and I feel like I may throw up. I must be carsick. Instead of staring out the window at and watch the city turn into trees, I lay my head back against the seat and stare at the roof.  
  
What feels like decades later (though Sandor assures me it was only fifteen minutes) we arrive at a little wood panelled home at the end of a long curving driveway, plopped down in the middle of nowhere. It’s covered in a thicket of trees and has an air of absolute privacy. I already feel safer. The car stops and Sandor gets out and comes over to my side while I’m still looking at the house.   
  
“Come on, we need to get you inside.” he says as he opens the car door for me.   
  
I immediately feel my legs give out and I’m happy to have him there to grab my arm and keep me upright. I’ve got that sickening heavy feeling again and the nausea is over powering. Once I get a breath of fresh air and comfortably in the house, I’m sure I’ll feel better.   
  
He pulls me through the door and into the lonely house out in the woods.   
  
  
—-  
  
I lay helplessly on the couch, unable to lift my head. It’s spinning like a top. The world around me is twirling crazily and I can’t get control of it. If I open my eyes I’ll throw up, and if I keep them shut, I feel as if I’m on a boat, lost at sea. There is no relief. I’m doing absolutely everything I can to keep myself from vomiting all over Sandor’s living room, the poor guy probably regrets having me here already. My body shakes and I can feel the sweat threatening to break out on my skin.   
  
As I breathe in raggedly, I hear heavy footfalls approach. I’m embarrassed he has to see me like this.   
  
“I think I need a bucket” I moan as the spinning continues and I struggle to hold on.   
  
As if reading my mind, Sandor plunks something heavy down beside me and sighs as he touches my forehead.   
  
“What’s happening to me?” I ask.  
  
“This, little bird, is the start of the battle with withdrawal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your lovely comments put a smile on my face and encourage me to keep writing, so I thank you for taking the time to make someone's day!


	6. Sansa

A battle. Sandor called this withdrawal a battle. But it’s not. It’s an annihilation. It’s being caught off guard and attacked without any defence and beaten mercilessly. At least, that’s what it feels like. Worst of all, it’s only been a day and a half. Not that I can keep track, I go by what his voice tells me.   
  
I can no longer keep my eyes open. The stomach-churning nausea gets the best of me if I try and look around. Hell, I’m not even aware of my surroundings. I can’t concentrate and I’m pretty sure I keep hallucinating, unless I really am back at the asylum. But no, the voice is here. Sandor. I must still be with him.   
  
Breathing a sigh of relief, I risk a peek to confirm my belief, and sure enough, Sandor is sitting directly in front of me, perched on the coffee table, holding a cup. My first thought is that it must be a sturdy coffee table to withstand his weight. My second thought is how worried and a little angry he looks at me.   
  
“You need to drink.” he says sternly. “Can’t have you getting dehydrated. You’ve sweated enough on my poor couch.”   
  
That last part is said sarcastically but I cringe in embarrassment. I conjure up a groan and slowly try to lift my head to his oncoming glass of water. The liquid is cool in my mouth, refreshing me, probably the best thing i’ve ever tasted. I want more, and I open my mouth to urge him on. Again, another burst hits my tongue and I want to cry.   
“Woah, slow down there, little bird. You’ll get sick again if you drink too much.”   
  
But I don’t listen. I grab the cup and begin gulping.   
  
“Sansa!” he scolds, taking the glass away from me before I can finish it. He places it down on the table and gives me a stern look while he moves the bucket on the ground closer to me with his foot. I think it’s a tad presumptuous to assume I’m going to be sick for chugging a bit of water. In fact, if anything my body needs it. He’s just -   
  
And he’s right. Next thing I know the bile is rising in my throat and I’m crying into the bucket as Sandor is sighing and holding my hair back.   
  
I shiver violently. Finally finished, nothing to come up. I feel so hot, so raw, itchy even with unseen bugs crawling under my skin. I can’t take this. A cool hand touches my forehead.   
  
“Into the shower with you.” says his voice and I begin to wonder how this will work, I can’t open my eyes let alone bathe myself.   
  
Instead of being left to wonder long enough, Sandor’s voice is right by my ear.   
  
“You need to trust me, little bird.”   
  
I nod weakly.   
  
He scoops me up in one fluent motion and we’re on the move, towards the bathroom I assume. I feel the lights click on and I’m shifted in his arms while the water sprays on. I hear it in the background of my unsteady breathing.   
  
“I need to sit you down, will you not keel over and die on me?” Sandor asks as he places me on the toilet. I nod again and lucky for me the sink is close by so I lean against it.   
  
Then, nothing happens for a minute. No sounds of movement. I risk another peak and Sandor is standing there in thought. Then he takes his shirt off revealing a strong, hard, yet scarred chest. I close my eyes again and wonder what’s next. A spike in my belly unrelated to the withdrawal has made an appearance. Is he stripping? Is he going to strip me? Am I okay with this?   
  
Instead of giving me time to worry, I’m lifted again and suddenly I am in paradise. A rain of soft cooling water is sprinkling against my blazing skin. I sigh and instantly slump over and curl further into Sandor’s arms.   
  
“Much better, isn’t it?” he asks.  
  
“Much.” I whisper   
  
Slowly Sandor lowers us to the shower floor and he sits back against the wall, adjusting me in his arms so I get the best angle for the spray. His hands go to my hair, moving it away from my face, brushing it slowly and carefully into a soothing rhythm. If this isn’t what heaven feels like, I don’t know what is.   
  
All too soon, but what could have been hours, Sandor himself lets out a sigh.   
  
“Don’t want to get you water-logged now do we?” He asks,standing again, and I let out a little “hmm” response, in too much bliss to really listen. The spray stops and the air is immediately warmed and somehow  charged with a glorious feeling. I’m then wrapped like a child in a big fluffy towel, my clothes stuck to my body in a delicious, cooling way against my prickly skin.   
  
I soon find myself sitting against the toilet again.   
  
“I’m going to get you something to wear, and then comes the hard part. You’re going to have to dress yourself, little bird.”  
  
That sounds like nothing, until I realize I will have to stand and actually open my eyes to get changed. How embarrassing would it be if I threw up after just getting cleaned. I don’t even want to think about it.   
  
Sandor leaves and his heavy footfalls return quickly.   
  
“I’m going to stand on the other side of this door, Sansa. You get yourself dressed, and I’ll… I’ll brush your hair.”  
  
The door shuts softly. He will brush my hair. My heart is warm.   
  
I suck in a breath and slowly open my eyes to see the misty shower. So far so good. No nausea. With shaking hands and slow motions, I move towards the counter where a large black shirt and some sweats with a drawstring wait for me. I carefully remove my soaked clothing and place them in the shower and gingerly put the shirt over my head, arms in the designated holes. Success! Next the pants. Another job well done.   
  
Should I? Yes. I risk it. I swipe my hand over the fogged mirror to reveal a pale girl with wet auburn hair and dark circles under her too big eyes staring at me. She looks like she’s been through hell and back, which quite frankly is how I feel. Am I out of the woods yet?   
  
“All good in there?” Sandor asks.  
  
I nod slowly at my reflection until I realize he can’t see me, and speak up.   
  
“Yes. Come in.” I turn to look at him and the faint hint of a smile curls on his lips. 

He leads me back over to the toilet to sit me down and takes out a brush from a drawer. With deft hands he works my hair until the tangles surrender and free themselves. I feel good. Better than good. I feel refreshed and the tingles crawl into my stomach, a welcome feeling. All too soon, he’s finished. Another paused moment.   
  
“To bed with you.” Says Sandor, picking me up again, and instead of bringing me back to the couch, takes me to a bedroom, his bedroom, I can tell because it’s easier to open my eyes, and the controlled mess of the room suggests it’s his. 

He rolls down the comforter with one hand, slides me under, and tucks me in. I feel warm and suddenly so tired. As he goes to close the door and sleep threatens to pull me under, I have a terrifying thought. I don’t want him to leave.   
  
“Sandor!” I call out.   
  
“What is it?” he asks with a sense of worry. Perhaps he thinks I will throw up in his bed.   
  
“Don’t go, please. Stay with me.”   
  
He pauses before complying, coming around the other side of this big bed and lying on top of the covers.   
  
“Sleep now, little bird. I’ll watch over you.”   
  
A more restful sleep I have never had. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little fluff update to let you all know I am still here and have not dropped the story. I've got plans for our favourite pair and I can't wait to share it. Thank you as always!


	7. Sansa

The morning sun peeks it’s way through the curtains and I wake peacefully for once, no screaming, no gasping for air. The nausea is there, but it’s controllable compared to yesterday. I send a silent thank you up to the gods.

I look around to assess my surroundings, remembering the night before, and there beside me is Sandor’s sleeping form. He’s on his back, mouth slightly ajar, breathing evenly. One hand is extended out towards me and I can’t help but imagine my hand placed in his big one. It makes my heart skip a little. It’s strange, but he almost looks peaceful with no traces of a scowl on his marred face. 

I silently watch as his chest rises and falls in a slow rhythm and begin to wonder more about this man. Why he would do this for me. Break me out of the holdfast. Why he would ruin his own life, his job, his future. The more I think, the more uncomfortable and constricted I feel. Where will we go from here? What if he leaves me? The sweat is coming back and I feel dizzy once more. I gulp and gasp for much needed air.   
  
“What’s going on little bird? Going to be sick?” his voice sounds hoarse, I must have just woke him.  
  
I nod weakly, it’s all I can manage right now.   
  
“Up we get.” Sandor is off the bed in seconds and comes around to gingerly sweeps me into his arms and carries me off to the bathroom again, so I may rest my head on my old friend, the toilet. The porcelain is cool against my increasingly warm skin.  
  
I do my best to stay strong this time, I will not shed a tear today if I can help it. I’m feeling very self conscious and aware which is more than I could say for yesterday. As the heaves take over me and I’m throwing up uncontrollably, I feel a hand on my shoulder. His hand. It’s comforting, yet all too quickly he takes it away.   
  
After what feels like an eternity, I’ve finished. Nothing left to come up, no strength left inside me to keep retching. I lean back against the wall in the bathroom, my eyes closed.   
  
“S-s-sandor?” My teeth begin to chatter.   
  
I can hear his footfalls speeding up from the other room, I risk a peek and he’s holding a glass of water.   
  
“You don’t look well. Paler than usual. Are you cold?” he bends down in front of me, a warm hand touching my forehead. “You feel hot.”   
  
With my whole body going haywire, I don’t know what to say in response, do I tell him I feel like I’m spinning uncontrollably? No, I can’t bring myself to speak, so I nod again. I am still determined not to let the withdrawals get to me today.  
  
Sandor releases a sigh and picks me up again and takes me back to his room, not the couch I notice, and lays me down on the bed. I listen to him drag the bucket beside the bed once more.

I yearn for sleep to take me, to rescue me from this losing battle. But it doesn't come. I lay awake on the bed and try to regulate my breathing. Control my shakes. Anything that will take focus off the topsy turvy ride. After laying down for some time, I start to feel a little better. I feel proud, like I've accomplished something by riding through these waves of sickness. I slowly turn my head and look at Sandor, he catches me watching him. My heart flutters.  
  
“Everything’s going to be fine, little bird. You need to try and relax.” Sandor says, his voice faint in my ear.   
  
“Okay,” I whisper through chapped lips.  
  
I feel a cold hand, his hand, move the hair away from my face, he’s smoothing it back, and the motion soothes me. He stops all too soon and before I realize what I’m doing, I’m protesting his actions.  
  
Taking the hint, he returns to stroking my hair, and I breathe a big sigh, it feels so good, to exhale so deeply, almost luxuriating.   
  
“Sandor?” I mumble   
  
“What is it, little bird?”   
  
“Talk to me please. Tell me something… Something good.” My voice sounds cracked and hoarse.  
  
“Something good?” he almost sounds surprised.   
  
“A good story.” I say firmly.  
  
“I haven’t got many good stories to tell, little bird.”   
  
“Think of something.”  
  
“You’re persistent. Must be feeling better.” He chuckles.  
  
I smile in response and close my eyes as he continues to talk.  
  
“Okay, this story is about an old, scarred dog, one who has been kicked around a lot, mistreated and angry.”  
  
“I said a good story!” I interject.  
  
“Patience isn’t a strong suit for you is it? One day, this hound is prowling around, doing his guard dog duties, when he comes across a bird. A small, chirping thing, trapped in it’s cage.”  
  
“What colour is the bird?” I ask, picturing his words in my head.  
  
“Red. Red like a sunset.” he is quick to answer, he must have known this already.  
  
“Anyway, little did the bird know that the cage was surrounded by hungry lions, and as you know, cats like to eat poor, innocent birds. So one day after admiring the pretty bird for awhile, that old scarred dog decided he was done with his life of misuse and he would take the bird with him and together they would be free. And so he did.”   
  
“Why did the dog take the bird with him?” I find myself asking, a question that’s been burning on my mind since the beginning.   
  
“Well, it may be because just like cats, dogs have an interest in birds,” he says roughly. “Or it might be because the bird was his ‘something good’. It could even be that the bird reminded him of himself, of being trapped in a world they didn’t belong.”   
  
I can’t help but smile at his attempt to make me feel better.   
  
“You’re not a great story teller.” I say in a snarky tone.   
  
“Yeah well you caught me off guard with this crap.” he responds.  
  
Silence fills the air and suddenly we’re both aware he’s still stroking my hair. His hand stills. 

"Sansa,” he breathes so close to me, the sound of my name on his lips sends a shiver down my spine.   
  
“Yes?” I whisper.

The banging on the front door pulls both our attention and with it, the dread rips it’s way from the pit of my stomach up to my throat. 

Well, it was a good run while it lasted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all,   
> Just a little chapter to let you know the story has not been abandoned, and I can't wait to get it going again. Thanks for sticking with me :)


	8. Sansa

Sandor turns to look at me as the banging at the door persists. I stare at him with frightened wide eyes. He brings a hand up to cup my face before smoothing his thumb across my lower lip.   
  
“Stay in bed, little bird.”   
  
“But - “   
  
“I’m coming back.” he insists.  
  
All too soon he’s gone and I’m left alone with my thoughts. I can’t go back, I will not go back. Sandor wouldn’t let them take me. I know it. My heart aches with the truth in what I suspect.   
  
“Really, Clegane, keeping me outside to bang on the door for ten minutes really doesn’t help the whole ‘not guilty’ charade, now does it?” a voice in the hall speaks, the sound drifting into his room.  
  
I perk my ears and am suddenly grateful for the small coziness of this cottage.   
  
“Can you keep your voice down, she’s sick.” Sandor growls back, clearly unhappy with whoever has stepped into his home.  
  
“Ah yes, withdrawals. Nasty thing, isn’t it? I’m sure Cersei had her drugged up on quite the cocktail of prescriptions.” the voice says.  
  
I struggle to think of who the voice belongs to. It has a sense of familiarity and the way they say ‘Cersei’ with such bitterness makes me even more curious. Deciding that I must hear them better, I slowly get up from the bed. I’m dizzy and nauseated, however I push through it so I can better eavesdrop. I tip toe to the door frame and lean against it for support. 

“Can you tell me why you’re here, Lannister?” 

Lannister. _Lannister_. My heart drops to my knees. Before I can restart the panic cycle, I go against my better judgement and poke my head out of the door. I have to see this Lannister. 

  
Because I am pretty certain I am one of the unluckiest people on the planet, I peek out just as he looks towards the door. His curious mismatched eyes meet mine for a brief second before I duck back into the room.   
  
Oh god, oh god. Tyrion Lannister is here, in Sandor’s cottage. He may not look the part of a powerful man, but he surely is given his family. Suddenly the window in the room catches my eye, and I think about the probability of being caught if I snuck out of it now. This is so not good. Not what I need now as I fight off the withdrawals and stop my head from spinning. 

I decide against sneaking out, I wouldn’t make it an hour out there alone with how sick I’m feeling, and i’m guessing Sandor knows this area pretty well. I stay in the room, feet planet in a sprinting position as if I’m going run past them at any second.

  
Instead of hearing their voices from before, I’ve noticed the sounds have lowered to a murmur, they clearly don’t want me to hear what they’re discussing now. Fine, be that way. It makes the sneaking out the window option a little more appealing.   
  
Sandor’s voice finally distracts me from my thoughts. I can’t see him but I hear him just fine, this speaking up is for my benefit. His voice is a little strained but he sounds steady.   
  
“Sansa, come out here please.”

I do what he says, deep down knowing that Sandor wouldn’t sell me away to the Lannisters. He is on my side. Slowly I drag my stiff legs to the door frame and into the front hall. I stand looking at the two men, eyes darting back and forth between the two. 

  
“Well Miss Stark you look a hell of a lot better since I’d seen you last. Good on you.” Tyrion says while giving me the once over. I nod my head once and look to Sandor, surely there is a reason why I’m out here. Sandor catches my eye and looks away quickly. This can’t be good.  
  
As though Tyrion senses my discomfort (and queasiness) he looks between the two of us and sighs.   
  
“Right, well I’ll make this brief. The short of it is that Cersei does not know of your whereabouts, this was a good call taking her to your father’s old cabin Clegane. What she think is that you’ve headed north, home. Which as we all know would be a silly decision to do so. What I suggest is you stay here as long as you can and if I get wind that this is their next target, I will inform you and you will move onto the next destination.”  
  
“Which is?” Sandor seemed anxious.  
  
“Holed up with my good friend, Bronn. He will take care of you as long as the gold keeps coming.”  
  
“Wait, why are you doing this for us?” I ask, the question had been stuck to my tongue since he started explaining but only now could I voice it.  
  
Tyrion turns to me and smiles, mismatched eyes looking slightly amused.  
  
“Not all Lannisters are heartless beasts, Sansa. I admired your father and thought what they did to not only him but you was cruel. I plan to rectify the mistakes my family has made and this is one of the only ways I know how. Not to mention I owe Clegane a favour or two and it’s good for business.”   
  
“What does that mean?” another question slips from my lips.  
  
“What he means is if things keep going to shit like it is for the Lannisters then his ass is covered and he will good by saving the oldest Stark girl.” Sandor rasped, his tone getting annoyed by Tyrion’s long winded speeches. 

It all came down on me like a ton of bricks. It wasn’t Sandor’s valiant idea to save me from the hell they called a hospital. It was so he’d look good when those who allied with the Starks rose to power. It actually hurt my heart so much to even consider this but it was the only thing to make sense. Why else would he save someone he barely knew?

“I uh- I feel sick. I need to rest. Goodbye.” I say almost mechanically and back out into the room. Tyrion looks at me as if he’s thinking something that he doesn't want to say, and Sandor looks worried. 

It doesn’t matter, I am back in the shelter of Sandor’s room and as much as I want to cry there is something bigger keeping me from doing so. A question that I hadn’t dared asked for I really didn't want to know the answer. 

You see, spending so much time in a psych ward really messes with your head. It takes time to adjust back to the real world. In there, you eat when you’re told to, bathe within the few minutes they give you, and you walk around with your head down in fear you accidentally rub another patient the wrong way and they want to start a fight. I never got visitors so I had nothing to look forward to, well except meatball sub wednesdays, and I had no interest in the medication they pushed at me. The worst part of all? All that time you lose. Time waiting, time wasting away. Not having any clue as to what day it is or even what month it could be. Now that I’ve got things back, I don’t know how to act, and as that forbidden question bubbles back up to the surface, I finally feel free to say it aloud, to myself. 

  
“What is the end game? Where am I supposed to end up, and with who?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, it has literally been months. I really have so much I want to add and places I want to go with this fanfic and I will go there it just takes time. I deal with a lot of health issues that prevent me from writing as often as I'd like so the story kind of sits on and off in my brain until I can tell it. 
> 
> This is a little update to let you know I'm still writing and though its a slow burning tale, things will get saucy and fun eventually, I hope. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me and reading, I hope I don't let anyone down.


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